


Bad Idea Generator

by ContraryIzybel



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, One Shot Collection, Possessive Behavior, Single Parents, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4403213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContraryIzybel/pseuds/ContraryIzybel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randomly generated pairings. Randomly generated prompts. This can only end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sarge/Jensen Wedding AU

**Author's Note:**

> I def didn’t make a “pairing and kink/prompt generator” in one of my notebooks at work. Def didn’t do that. But if I did do that these would be the pair/kink or prompt combos that struck me as interesting, challenging, or just fucking funny. 
> 
> Not sorry. 
> 
> (Tags will be updated with every chapter update)
> 
> (Also if you have any horrible ideas of pairings/characters/prompts for the generator let me know. The more options the more horrifying the results)

Sarge/Katie Jensen  
Wedding AU

\---

“This seems like a joke. A horrible, horrible joke.” 

Sarge huffed angrily causing Simmons to blush as much as a cyborg could. 

“I mean, this seems like a horrible joke, sir.” 

“That’s better. And this isn’t a joke. I’d have called up her dad but his retirement home’s on the moon. Long distance calls are expensive. And those dirty space pirates are still jamming all communication.” Sarge began grumbling to himself about rude space pirates and how inconsiderate the elderly were before snapping back to the subject at hand with a slap to Simmons’ shoulder. “That’s why I figured her commanding officer was the next best thing.” 

From his spot on Simmons’ once pristine bed Grif laughed and laughed until he thought he was going to choke. Not that it stopped him from laughing. If laughing over this mess of a conversation was what finally killed him he’d go out happy. 

“Shut your disrespectful mouth solider. This is serious.” 

Grif laughed his way right off the bed. 

Taking the now vacant spot Simmons rubbed his face so hard he knocked his glasses off. Not that it mattered to his robotic eye. Though right now being completely blind sounded like it’d be a blessing. 

Being deaf wouldn’t be half bad either, if it’d get the sound of Grif’s gasping laughter out of his head. 

“She…she wants to do this?” Simmons finally asked, though really the better question wasn’t if she’d want to but why she’d want to. But asking that would probably get him a smack in the face with Sarge’s favorite shotgun, so he held back. 

“Course she does. At least I imagine so. Haven’t asked her yet. Not the way of these things. Father’s permission first.”

“Oh god this is actually happening.” 

“Sir,” Grif called from around their feet, seemingly uninterested in pulling himself off the floor. “Jensen doesn’t seem like she’s your type.” 

That was possibly the most diplomatic thing Grif had ever said. Better than whatever Simmons would manage to ask. As it was he was still boggling over the fact that this conversation was even happening. 

“Course she is. She’s a crack with mechanical engineering and she agrees with my various plans to hurt Grif.” 

“Pretty sure she thinks those are jokes.” Simmons said. 

“They are. Deadly serious jokes.” 

“Just give him your blessing already.” Grif called from the floor. “If nothing else this is going to be hilarious.” 

Simmons hesitated, thinking about the sweet and well-meaning girl who’d been under his command the last few months. Maybe she was interested in their commanding officer (which even as a notorious suck up he couldn’t figure out what she would have seen in him) but would it be appropriate? Would the other soldiers think there was favoritism? Would there be favoritism not directed at him? 

But ultimately he said yes, if only because of how excited Sarge seemed. Like he really did care about her. And while he didn’t express it as much as some brightly colored members of their team, he really was a romantic at heart. 

And Grif was right, this was going to be hilarious. 

“You have my permission to propose to Katie Jensen, sir.” 

Sarge surprised him with a hug, sniffling about how he wouldn’t regret this. It would have been a really sweet moment if he wasn’t so terrified. 

“Hey Sarge.” Somehow in the middle of the awkward hugging Grif had stood and moved way too close for Simmons’ comfort. “I practiced this a lot for my sister, but god knows she’s never getting married. At least not if we’re lucky.” 

“Aw Grif, I don’t need your congratulations until after she says yes. Then I’ll take congratulations in any form. Preferably in money.” 

“No, I was going to say that if you break Jensen’s heart or are an unthinking dickhole to her I’m going to smoother you with your pillow while you sleep.” 

“Oh.”

Grif nodded with a wide smile. “Yep. Now go on and propose to your girl you big lug.” 

As Sarge stumbled out of Simmons’ room Grif leaned against his taller team member, blatantly ignoring Simmons’ sounds of discomfort. “Our Sarge is all grown up.” 

“I’m pretty sure he’s like twice our age.” 

“Shut up Simmons. And c’mon, I want to watch and see if this blows up in his face.” 

It did not blow up in his face, or at least not until in her excitement Jensen dropped the smoke bomb she’d been tinkering with. 

That blew up in his face.


	2. Sharkface/North Dakota Soulmark AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously love soulmark/soulmate AUs and they will probably show up again. When this pairing was generated it made me laugh, until I wrote this and now I'm kind of taking it seriously and yeah, they may also show up again.

Sharkface/North Dakota  
Soulmark AU

\--

His mark came a week after his 18th birthday and an hour after he enlisted. It burned for hours, leaving him stuck whimpering on the floor while his sister watched from her bed with a detached interest. Occasionally she'd force him to swallow down a bottle of water but otherwise she remained distant. 

When the pain finally faded he was left with scars, like a great mouth had bit down around him where his shoulder met his neck. A ring of teeth.

"Looks like a fucking shark got you." She teased from her bed, her own hand tracing the foreign characters that had burned their way onto the back of her calf weeks before their birthday. She had always been more impatient than him.

He inspected the marks in her mirror (despite their shared room it was her mirror, she'd written her name on it and everything) and gingerly poked the scared flesh. "Looks like it."

"You're going to get some kinky motherfucker." She laughed.

"Hopefully not." He teased back, waiting for her to get the joke. When she threw her pillow at the back of his head he laughed. "Whoever it is will probably bite my head clean off."

"Thought that was my job."

He smiled back at his sister, pleased to see her gripping her own mark the same way he was. Marks weren't a promise, but he liked to think she'd find someone who could handle her. They’d been together since the day they were born and even he couldn't handle her half the time.

Eventually she got bored of watching him stare at himself in the mirror and wandered off, probably to start a fight he'd need to finish. But until she called for him he was content staring at his reflection and wondering about the mark destiny had given him. She always called him an old romantic, and maybe this time the universe would let him have the romantic soulmate ending the fairy tales always talked about.

\--

If anyone asked he got his first tattoo at 15, just something simple he'd traded mechanic work for. In reality his first tattoo had been done by an older foster sister when he was 12, a poorly drawn cartoon character from a show they'd both watched religiously and anymore he couldn't remember anything about. But that was, thankfully, hidden on his foot so as far as anyone was concerned his first tattoo was at age 15.

During his teen years he went a little wild. Even he could admit it. From the professional work he had done in clean and clinical parlors to the work he did out of boredom while serving time for various offenses, his body became his canvas, all leading up to his chest piece.

Unfortunately the universe decided his chest piece needed an interruption. Through dumb luck he was sleeping off a hangover when his soulmark formed and he only noticed it when he finally got up to piss. When he went to wash his hands he noticed something new in the mirror.

Reflecting back at him was a hand. Like someone had burnt their palm and fingers into his chest, smudging the lines of the jaw he'd been having inked into his skin.

He lifted his own hand, wincing at flash of pain. It was warm, even when he pulled away. A phantom warmth, almost like someone was holding him back. The hand print was bigger than his own and he chuckled a bit at where than sent his thoughts. 

"Probably one bad motherfucker." He told his reflection.

After the shock wore off, and after his roommate/current tattoo artist woke up, he had the line work redone on his chest, ignoring the pain and scoffing at the soulmate the universe picked for him. Even though marks came in all shapes and sizes he felt like his was almost cliché.

But when the lining was done and his roommate stumbled back to his room for another hour of sleep he returned to the bathroom to stare at the mark. To stare at the lines of ink that passed over the mark, like rings around each finger.

Maybe he'd be lucky and his soulmate would have a sense of humor about the whole thing.

"Yeah, universe wouldn't give me someone without a sense of humor." He confirmed to his reflection before taking his roommate's idea and returning to bed.

\--

Aiden Price knew everything about the Freelancers. The things that made them strong, the things that made the weak, the things they were fighting for and the things they were running away from. Aiden even knew what mark each of them carried, or if they had marks at all. Those he had kept to himself, because according to the Director soulmarks didn't matter when you were a Freelancer.

And while he never said it out loud, Aiden knew the Director was wrong about that.

But now, among thieves and murderers, perhaps they didn't matter anymore. Soulmarks wouldn't get him any closer to his freedom. They wouldn't give him his life back. But perhaps he could give someone else closure. Or just make things worse.

The prisoner known as Sharkface was still working on his armor when Aiden returned from another uncomfortable briefing with their new bosses. He'd been working on the armor since they freed him from his prison, not stopping to eat, barely stopping to sleep. Aiden had stopped leaving him food, it was a waste of supplies each time he left it untouched, but he still pushed the man to return to his bed, at least for a few hours.

He'd be lucky if Sharkface wasn't back at his work bench within the hour.

"Did you sleep?"

"You keep asking things you already know the answer too." He said, reaching for a new can of paint. His right hand was sitting on his chest, almost as though he were scratching at something under his armor. Something Aiden had seen before when they first freed him from his cell. Something he had to ask about.

Sometimes he regretted being a counselor. Or perhaps sometimes he regretted it more than usual.

"I noticed your soulmark when Felix and Locus freed you from your cell. Is it bothering you?"

He glared, sharp and sudden, but only huffed when Aiden didn't react. "It's fine."

"Have your met your soulmate?"

Sharkface gave out a cold bark of a laugh. "Think you've got my mark on you?"

Aiden's face didn't change but his hand circled his wrist, the biggest tell he'd even given since the two had met. "I’ve already met my soulmate."

"Huh. Lucky you."

"Did you get to meet yours?"

He threw a few empty cans across the bench and growled deep and long, but Aiden didn't flinch. The Director had worst temper tantrums on good days.

"The fuck do you care if I did or didn't met them? It doesn't fucking matter now, does it?"

"Perhaps it does."

He stopped short of grabbing Aiden, his hand hovering near his collar before pulling back sharply. "You think you know who it is, fucking tell me."

"A freelancer I worked with had a mark, like he'd been bitten. It went around his neck and shoulder and in times of stress he would often touch the mark. His sister was a freelancer too. She called it his 'lucky shark bite.'"

"Little cliché, don't you think?" Sharkface spit back.

"He had very big hands. Big enough to match the mark on your chest."

His hand reached up, hovering over the mark hidden under his suit. He could feel it, could always feel it like a constant heat hold him back. Calming him down. Letting him know he wasn't alone. But a hand that belonged to a freelancer?

"Is he there?"

"On Chorus?" Aiden hesitated before shaking his head. "No, he isn't."

He closed his free hand over the forgotten spray paint, turning his back on the counselor, all the while keeping his other hand on his chest. "Then it doesn't matter."

\--

Maybe in another universe it would have been different. A world without war. Without the insurrection, without Freelancers. Perhaps there was another universe where he wouldn't be alone on the cold mountains of Chorus, but instead living a normal life. Perhaps even a life with his soulmate.

He could imagine it, as he waited with his finger tapping impatiently on the side of the trigger. He could imagine the person belonging to his soulmark, a big guy with kind eyes and a quick smile. He probably had a kid. Some shy blonde thing hiding behind daddy's legs at the grocery store, pointing to the strange scarred man waiting for a pack of menthols.

"Dad, he looks like a shark!"

And he'd apologize, blushing and fumbling over words even as his big hand tried to cover the mark on peeking out from under his purple shirt. Would smile despite the embarrassment and make his kid apologize even when he joked that plenty of other people thought he was a shark too.

And in that impossible other world the mark on his chest would be warm, as warm as his hand was when it sat over his heart.

But not in this world. Not as he waited on the cold mountain, waiting to kill the last living friends of the man who may have been his soulmate.


	3. Donut & Delta Kid!fic

Donut and Delta  
First day of school

\--

Delta has been preparing for weeks. His new outfit had been clean and pressed, hanging in his closet since Sunday. His hair had been trimmed two days before, though the little curl he never had control of was still sitting by his ear. Even his green backpack was sitting by the front door, filled and ready since the night before. 

But despite his preparations he was still going to be late. 

“Don’t be so dramatic.” His father said as he dropped another piece of brown sugar crusted bacon onto his still full plate. Franklin Delano Donut believed very firmly in a good breakfast. His son hadn’t yet developed that appreciation but he dutifully poked at the fruit on his plate while his father turned his attention back to the booming voice on the other end of the phone. 

“No silly, I was talking to Delta. Though you’re being dramatic too.” There came more yelling but Donut only brightened under the screams. “Well you shouldn’t have put Grif on the opening shift. You know he doesn’t do anything before 2 pm.” 

Delta glanced at the clock which pressed on with no respect for Donut’s unwavering belief in breakfast and his refusal to let time dictate when he should do anything. 

“I don’t care. It’s Delta’s first day and I’m not missing it. I’ll see you in time for the morning rush. Kisses!” Donut snapped his lightish red flip phone with a flourish. Privately Delta thought his father kept the old phone just so he could dramatically hang up on people. If Donut thought his son was dramatic it would be no wonder where it came from. 

“We’ll be late if we don’t leave now.” Delta reminded his father. 

Donut inspected his full plate, clucking his tongue. “At least finish your bacon. You’re still a growing boy.” 

Delta didn’t finish the bacon, instead eating half and hiding the rest under his toast while his father’s back was turned. By the time Donut had finished setting the kitchen to rights Delta had his hands and face washed, his backpack gathered, and was practically hopping with impatience by the front door. 

“Well, we better go before you’re late.” Donut said, ruffling Delta’s hair and earning a harsh glare. Though at only five he hadn’t managed to perfect his harsh glare. As it was his cheeks turned red and it earned another ruffling of his hair. 

The school was only a few blocks away, part of why Donut had chosen their house when they moved two years before. They waved to neighbors who were going to work, or at least Donut did. Delta kept his eyes on the sidewalk, watching the little bits of grass that broke through the concrete or the ants making their way to their hill. He trusted his father to guide him, clenching his hand and trying to will away the little shakes that had started they stepped off their porch. 

But Donut just carried on, chatting about everything and anything, all the while holding his son’s hand firmly and guiding him through the stops and starts of the walk to his new school. When they arrived even Donut, who always claimed he had an innate sense of direction, wasn’t completely sure he could find the right class on the first try but brightly colored signed pointed them down the right hall. The crying parents were a good sign they’d made it to the right place.

Mr. Washington’s class was even brighter than the rest of the building, but the walls were mostly bare. As they stepped further inside the door Donut spotted kids already coloring on large pieces of paper and an adult who Donut assumed was his son’s teacher was pinning some of the finished drawings onto the wall. At the rate the kids were going it wouldn’t be long until the whole room was covered. Though it certainly gave Donut some fun ideas for his next adventure in home decorating.

“Hey, come on in.” The man said, making his way around the crowd of kids. “I’m David. David Washington.” 

Donut offered him the hand Delta wasn’t holding onto, smiling as big as he could. “Nice to meet you. I’m Franklin Delano Donut, and this is my son, Franklin Delta Donut. Can you say hi, Delta?” 

Suddenly Delta felt the overwhelming urge to hide behind his father’s legs, though he maintained his grip on Donut’s hand even as he hid. 

Mr. Washington chuckled kindly, kneeling down so they were eye level. “Hey buddy. I know it’s a little scary on your first day, but we’re going to have a lot of fun. I promise. Your dad’s welcome to stay as long as you need. Is that okay?”

Delta nodded sharply but didn’t give up his hiding spot. It seemed to be enough for Mr. Washington who stood back up to talk with Donut about any special needs and emergency contacts. The words settled over Delta, a soft background noise that allowed him to inspect the class more. 

He recognized a few of his friends from the neighborhood. Lavernius Tucker Junior had already set up by the bookshelves, grabbing any book that caught his interest and building a small fort around his father who didn’t seem in any hurry to leave. Not that Junior would notice if he did, given how excited he was by the collection of books. Delta would have to join him in inspecting the book options, at least once his legs felt like moving again.

His twin cousins had arrived too, and he took some relief that they were also hiding behind their parent’s legs. Iota peeked out long enough to wave at Delta before returning to her hiding spot with her sister. Their mother huffed a little at the jostling but otherwise didn’t seem in any rush, a rarity for Carolina who didn’t bother to slow down for almost anything. 

The hand he’d been holding for nearly ten minutes escaped his grasp, but Donut gave him the hand back once he had turned to kneel in front of Delta. “How you feeling, kiddo?” 

Delta shrugged. “I am…fine.” 

“Fine?” 

He glanced at Mr. Washington who had moved across the room to talk with some of the other parents, trying to comfort the kids who were refusing to be left and comfort the parents who were refusing to leave. 

“Did you give Mr. Washington your phone number in case of emergencies?” Delta whispered. 

Donut laughed, “Oh honey, when do you ever forget a number? But between you and me, yes I gave him my number.” 

“And you’ll be back at 3:15 to pick me up?” 

He got a kiss on the forehead for his worry. “I’ll be outside that door at 3:00 sharp.” 

“Thank you, Dad.” 

“You just promise me you’ll have fun, okay?” 

He ended up crying for a total of three minutes and twenty five seconds after his father left, and he dropped yellow paint on Iota’s new boots, and he scrapped his knee on the pavement during recess. But he also joined Junior’s book fort, picking out three books he wanted to read, and he painted a picture of his house, and he was the first to make it down the big slide without falling at the bottom.

So when his father asked he confirmed his first day of kindergarten had in fact been fun.


	4. Washington/Kaikaina Possessive

Washington/Kaikaina  
Possessive Love

\--

“It’s…cute?”

Kai pouted from where she was dangling off the couch, obviously waiting for more.

“I like it?” He winced, not meaning for it to sound like a question but she didn't seem to notice. Or care. 

“Yeah, of course you would that’s why I got it for you.” 

Washington inspected the gift again. Hanging from the end of a simple silver chain was a pendant, shaped like a kitten with a little bit of silver cut out to form a heart. There were also words carved into the pendant. “Is this Hawaiian?” 

“Yuuup.” 

He waited. 

She continued to pout from the couch, legs kicking wildly. 

“What does it say?” 

“I dunno, something about loving you or how you’re my boyfriend and I really care about you or something.” 

“Oh.” Wash’s face heated and he knew he was blushing under his mess of freckles. “That’s…wow, Kai, that’s really sweet. Thank you.” 

“Whatever.” She huffed but her pout turned into a small smile. At the risk of falling over onto her he leaned down, kissing her nose. 

In retaliation she yanked him on top of her, so really that one wasn’t his fault. 

After that he took to wearing the necklace, keeping the kitten shaped pendant under his shirt and taking comfort from the cold metal. Kai seemed to like it, often digging it out from under his shirt when he got home or playing with it while they watched TV. 

Tucker laughed when he finally saw it and didn't stop laughing until Sarge smacked him over the back of the head and sent him off to do something useful. Caboose and Donut both thought it was cute when they finally noticed it, and when Doc saw it during Wash’s annual checkup he only remarked how difficult it would be for a cat to survive with a heart shaped hole in its chest. So honestly all of that could have gone worse. 

And then Grif went and ruined it.

“Jesus fucking Christ. My sister got that for you, didn’t she?” 

Wash nodded awkwardly. He was still pretty sure Grif wanted to skin him alive for dating Kai, but so far Grif’s apathy had kept him safe. 

“That’s fucking hilarious. She tell you what it means?” 

“That she…loves me…I guess.” He muttered into his shirt. 

Grif stared at his necklace and shrugged. “Yeah, that’s about right.” 

“Why, what does it say?” Wash asked, trailing behind Grif. “What does it say?” 

For an hour he trailed after Grif who just laughed when he got especially desperate and threw his empty box of cereal at him when he got especially annoying. By the time his questioning threatened to turn into a physical fight Simmons intervened, shoving his tablet into Wash’s hands. 

“Seriously dude, just google it. And Grif, stop being an asshole.” 

“Fucking kill joy.” Grif groaned. 

Wash went online, copying down each letter from his pendant carefully and trying to keep his face blank as he read the translation. Unfortunately his poker face didn’t work well when his whole face and neck turned bright red. 

**‘He’s taken, bitches’**

“Oh.” 

Grif laughed behind him. “If it makes you feel better it’s the closest I think she can get to saying she loves someone.” 

“Surprisingly, that doesn’t help.” He looked down at the silver kitten and sighed. “We’re going to have to talk about boundaries again.” 

“Actually I think you should consider taking a Hawaiian language classes. I know a great program.” Simmons said. 

“You’ve taken classes to learn Hawaiian?” Wash asked. 

“Of course. It’s always a good idea to keep mentally engaged with new challenges.” 

Grif snorted so hard he probably hurt himself.

“And because the Grif family is made of assholes.” Simmons added.

That, Wash decided, was a fair point.


End file.
